


Cold

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, Sad, Unresolved, everything i write is shit, i suck, im sorry, this is shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:15:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He looks down, fakes a laugh to play it cool. His boss doesn’t buy it. He wouldn’t buy it himself.





	

It’s cold in the house. Josh checks the thermostat; it reads 70 degrees Fahrenheit. It shouldn’t feel so cold.

He drifts through the rest of the house, heading toward the kitchen to check the time. The clock on the oven reads 1:24 am, and Josh is so tired. The sweat and grease and whatever else is still carelessly on his face as he crawls into bed and falls asleep with an arm draped loosely over his boyfriend.

Josh wakes up late the next morning, and Tyler is already gone. He’s not surprised. He just rolls out of bed and takes a shower, and tries not to think about Tyler. The rest of the morning goes as planned; Josh waters the plants on the balcony, makes himself some coffee and cooks a nice meal that he leaves on the counter for Tyler. Not that it would be eaten, Josh knows it never is. Perhaps it would be picked at, perhaps completely untouched, but he leaves it there for Tyler to come home to anyway.

The afternoon is dreary. It’s raining, and Josh knows Tyler is out there. He doesn’t know exactly where he is, but he’s definitely not taking cover from the downpour. No, if anything, he’s reveling in it, bathing in it like it’s a shower of fine wine, a gift from God himself. Josh doesn’t understand why Tyler does that, but he doesn’t have time for comprehension when he has bills to pay. Bills that he spends the afternoon taking care of, and bills that he falls asleep while taking care of. When he wakes at 5:20 pm, he rushes to get ready, leaves a kind note for Tyler to maybe-but-probably-not read later on his way out the door.

Eight hour shifts are tiring. There are places Josh would much rather be from 6 pm to 1 am almost every night, places that don’t include rude customers and greasy kitchens, but he supposes that being a waiter isn’t the worst job he could have. He keeps that in mind as he wanders from table to table, anticipating the time he can go home.

Once that time comes, Josh feels less tired than he’d expected to be. Perhaps it has something to do with the nap he’d taken earlier. He doesn’t struggle to keep his eyes open as he drives home quite as much as he usually does, and he thinks that maybe today is a good day, maybe something good will happen soon. Maybe Tyler will be awake when he gets home.

Tyler is not, in fact, awake when Josh gets home, because Tyler is never awake, in fact, when Josh gets home. Tyler is always fast asleep in their shared bed in their shared bedroom in their shared house, but Josh is still happy to have things to share with him. In the kitchen, he packs away the meal that had been picked at, puts it back in the fridge and notices the way the note he’d left Tyler is gone. He can’t be disappointed about the meal. Tyler kept the note.

He can’t be disappointed when he enters the bedroom and sees Tyler asleep so peacefully. He wonders if his mind truly is peaceful. Josh reaches out with the most gentle hand possible and rubs it over Tyler’s flushed cheek. He watches as Tyler shifts slightly, a bit of a shiver running through his body and he realizes that Tyler is cold. He sighs, slips into bed, and tugs the covers tight, tighter over Tyler than he does over himself.

The morning comes, and once again, Tyler is out of bed. But it’s Thursday, and Tyler doesn’t leave on Thursdays. On Thursdays, Tyler is home all day, but not in the way Josh wishes he was. Tyler is upstairs, locked away in the study writing for hours and hours on end. He doesn’t let Josh read what he writes. Not that Josh has ever asked, but he figures that if Tyler wanted him to read it he would tell him. So he’s never asked.

Josh gets out of bed, late as per usual, and doesn’t see Tyler until he brings a bowl of soup for him up to the study. He’s careful on the stairs, doesn’t want to drop the meal that Tyler might not eat anyways.

When he approaches the room, he looks in through the large glass panels of the door that is slightly ajar. Tyler is sitting in a big black chair, writing away passionately, black pen creating dramatic marks against the paper that will never, _ever_ be replaced by a computer. He’s practically swallowed by the fabric of the chair as he sits just in sweatpants, no shirt or shoes. But apparently, he’s still getting service because Josh is pushing the door open with his foot, still so careful not to drop the soup as he calls out “hey” into the room. Tyler looks back at him and he smiles lightly.

“Hi,” Tyler whispers, like he’s afraid of something in the room breaking. He puts down his pen and paper as he turns in his chair to stare up at Josh. Josh looks back, and bites his lip cautiously. Tyler is practically shrinking. He’s wearing so thin, the skin on his stomach doesn’t even roll or fold over when he’s slouched over.

“Why don’t you eat something?” Josh asks, though he’s moreso suggesting. He sets the soup down on the table in front of Tyler, watches as Tyler eats a slow spoonful. The room is delicate, but not tense. Everything appears to be in slow motion as Josh moves closer to Tyler. Tyler looks back up to him with glossy eyes, and Josh doesn’t want to know what that means. He just focuses in on Tyler, locks in on the bags under his eyes and the ruffled up hair as he reaches out with a gentle hand and touches his face gently. This time, Tyler is awake, and this time, Tyler can respond when he feels Josh’s hands rub over his cheeks, push his hair back from his forehead and card through it. His eyes flutter shut as Josh leans down and plants a light kiss on his forehead before taking his hands off of him and leaving without a word.

That night at work, Josh can’t focus. He’s mixing up orders, delivering food to the wrong tables and spilling drinks left and right. He’s thinking about Tyler, thinking about what skin and bones mean and what teary eyes mean and what closed-offness means and why everything is going wrong. It’s all wrong.

Josh’s boss has apparently taken notice of his lack of focus. Once Josh struggles through one last table, his boss calls him into the storage room. The guy is kind, and looks at Josh with pitiful eyes before asking him what’s going on. Josh shakes his head and sniffs. He looks down, fakes a laugh to play it cool. His boss doesn’t buy it. He wouldn't buy it himself.

“I don’t even know,” he settles on as he looks back up into the eyes of his boss.

“Go home,” he says, and Josh is worried. He can’t lose this job. “Get some sleep.” Josh just nods, doesn’t bother to thank him as he rushes out the door to his car. He sits in the driver’s seat and breathes steadily, deeply to collect himself. In, out, he relaxes. He’s not tired, and he doesn’t have a problem driving home at only 9:30 pm.

Upon arriving home, Josh almost cries at the sight of Tyler sitting on the couch watching TV, apparently finishing up that soup from lunch just now. Tyler starts momentarily when he hears Josh enter, obviously not used to anyone being home at this time, but he relaxes when he sees who it is. He places the soup on the coffee table in front of him and wrings his hands together as Josh walks over silently.

“Boss sent me home early.” Josh says, and Tyler blinks up at him with the biggest, most innocent eyes. He reaches to grab Josh’s jaw, rubbing his thumb along the untamed scruff there, examining it before dropping his hand back down to the couch.

“You look tired,” he says, and suddenly, Josh _is_ tired. So he nods. Tyler nods back. Josh leans in. Tyler leans too. Their lips meet softly, Josh’s hand high on Tyler’s thigh in a way that is anything but suggestive. Only connected in lips and a hand on a thigh, they kiss briefly for the first time in a long, long time.

There should be fireworks. There should be celebrations, and sparks, and relief, and just _something_. But there’s nothing. Whatever they used to have is gone, and they feel nothing with the kiss, but they won’t admit it. Josh just stands up with a final pat to Tyler’s thigh before heading into the bedroom to sleep. He’s wasted their only night together, and as he undresses he understands what skin and bones mean and what glossy eyes mean and what closed-offness means.

And he knows why the house is so cold.

 


End file.
